When Push Comes To Shove
by citrine-anyali
Summary: Vikina is an orphan from Hardorn, rescued by a guardsman, who changes her life forever. She has secrets no one but she knows, and even she isn't truely sure of them. Can she really start a new life in a place she's never before seen but often dreamed of?


WHEN PUSH COMES TO SHOVE

Vikina walked slowly, her feet picking the way between the newly made furrows in the field. She was small for her age, and leaner than a whip, for she was the village's poorest member. Her place to sleep changed from one night to the next, for no one wanted to care for the daughter of an enemy when they had their own to feed and food was scarce. Her clothes were castoffs, though relatively new, for the village headman's new wife had a soft spot for children, and Vikina still looked like the child.

From time to time Vikina stooped to pickup a rock and shove it in her bag. It was hot work, and thankless, but at the end of the day she'd have money in her hand to show for it. It was a long time since she'd had a genuinely hot meal, rather than the warmed up leftovers the innkeeper gave her to share with his dogs. And tonight she wanted bread dipped in the innkeeper's stew.

A noise at the edge of the field startled her, but it was only the headman's daughter riding out for the day. Vikina swore to herself that she'd ride a horse like that one day, and the pretty white filly made her sigh in appreciation. It was better to dream than accept that this hand to mouth existence was the only life she'd ever know. Vikina dreamed of her horse, prancing and dancing before her eyes, even as she bent to pick up another rock pulled up by the plough.

She never did find a name for her dream horse, nor see what came after the prancing. She never did dream what came next, because while a dream was free, sleep came hard to a child who slept often in doorways and never longer than an hour or two at a time. A quick glance at the sun told her to get a move on, for dreams were for when work was finished.

She saw the soldiers approach the village and thought idly that they looked a bit odd, but she minded what she was doing and focused on finishing the field before dark came. After all, she had nothing of value for the soldiers to take, and they normally ignored her on their short sojourn within the village. She wasn't even old enough for them to see her as a source of pleasure.

Then it struck her why the soldiers were odd. They were foreigners, and suddenly her position in the field took on a new meaning. A panicked glance around showed that she was safe enough for now, but that they were coming her way, and in a flash of paranoid understanding she knew they wanted to catch her. On pure instinct, she dropped the bag and ran.

A huge hound barked as he caught sight of her, and Vikina could hear it behind her. Her foot slipped in the dirt, and as she tumbled she screamed, sure the savage hound would tear her to pieces. She hit the ground hard, her chin bouncing off a rock knocking her out cold.

….

Cason ordered Hinder off the child, and was a little concerned at her stillness. Dismounting from his horse, he went to pick her up and was confronted by something he'd never expected: she looked exactly like his own daughter, Tirea, even if a lot dirtier and thinner. Disturbed, he shook the girl lightly to try waking her.

"Wake up, child!" he commanded, and she stirred enough to lift her eyelids, blink twice, then collapse back into oblivion. Hmm, Cason thought, not Tirea… more like Anara. Long LOST Anara.

That tore it for him, he called for one of his men to help him get her on his horse, determined to find an answer to the mystery. He wondered how the child managed to be so like his family, yet also so totally unknown to them, and he needed to know if she was Anara's child… for more than one reason.

He gave the order to find the Headman, and waited, still mounted, with the child in his arms. Hinder sat beside Cason's horse, his tongue lolling in the warmth. The soldiers about him were dismounted, eyes watching for trouble. They knew this was disputed territory, just outside their borders, and Cason had trained them well. The Headman was brought before him neither completely willingly nor yet by force, and Cason saw with some disgust that the fat man was sweating profusely through his fine shirt.

"Whose child is this?" Cason demanded.

The fat Headman blustered and muttered. "She's an orphan," he said finally, face flushed in fear as he gave in to the silent pressure of Cason's gaze. His total lack of interest in the child spoke more of the man's contempt for the poor and estranged than of real malice, and Cason saw that the man was very much a man who cared about his standing in his part of the world.

"How did she come to be here?" Cason's voice was blandly uninformative.

"Why, her mother birthed her here, many winters ago," the Headman said, eyes wide. The question was not one he had expected, obviously, but Cason knew it for truth. "Over in that barn. She died though, not long after. We buried her in the orchard with honour. The poor woman wasn't well."

Cason looked down at the child in his arms, and reflexively tightened his grip on seeing her eyes open and staring at him in wonder. They were Anara's eyes, dark unfathomable blue, and they showed no fear. His voice gruff, Cason spoke once more: "What was the woman's name?" Cason was desperate to keep his voice unemotional.

"She told my wife who tended her that her name was Anara Crestil, and that the baby was to be named Vikina in honour of her husband's mother." The Headman gazed away shiftily. The man was full of disapproval as he continued: "There is no way the man who brought her here was her HUSBAND."

"And the child's father? Where was he?" Cason persisted, none to sure the Headman wasn't correct to doubt the relationship.

"Dead, sir," the Headman whispered, his blubber quivering in his fear. "The bandits killed him." The venom in the Headman's voice showed his distaste for the subject and Cason eyed the man sharply.

"Why does his death please you?" Cason's hard tone brought the Headman's fear to the fore.

"Because… because… he… he ," the voice trailed off for a moment. Then the man continued, obviously upset: "Fernil… He was… he was ONE of THEM!" The last words came out in a scream, and the Headman dissolved into a cringing, crying mass of overfed humanity. Disgusted and no more enlightened, Cason gazed down at the child in his arms, seeing the thinness, the seeming brittleness of her arms and legs. The knock on the chin was purpling rapidly, and he was struck by sudden protectiveness. He examined her face thoroughly for any trace of her father's blood, finding none. And then he saw the bruises barely healed that spoke of how welcome she was in the community.

"We're taking her with us," he said to his second, "she's family. Get the water bags filled and let us get out of this place. I want home, and I want it NOW."

And so it was that Cason of the Valdemar guards left a small town in Hardorn with one more person than he had arrived with, and set into motion a sequence of events that he could never have dreamed of. He was impatient to get home to bring the small mite in his arms in a home where she would be cared for. As for the child, Vikina was silent about the whole matter.

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I don't own Heralds, Valdemar or Hardorn... but the characters are mine and mine alone.


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